


Right Hand Man

by unamaga



Series: sweating out confessions [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Face Sitting, Female Stiles Stilinski, Foreskin Play, Frottage, Light Bondage, Mild D/s, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unamaga/pseuds/unamaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hasn’t had a partner-assisted orgasm in over a week and a half, and she is just beyond done. She wants to lie down on the cold bathroom floor and cry.  Derek is starting to look like a permanently kicked puppy.</p>
<p>“Look,” she tells him after dinner,  “I love your inner self and your personality or whatever, but can I just tie you up and use your body until I come a couple times?”</p>
<p>Derek fumbles the sudsy glass in his hand. </p>
<p>“Awesome!” Stiles says brightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kashmir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashmir/gifts).



> This is, as always, for my darling [kashmir](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kashmir). Right after I posted [I Like It When You Tell Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/850124), she decided one of her Christmas presents from me should be an entire series of not often/unconventionally done porn fics. So expect - if all goes well and I finish my capstone paper on time (AHAHAHA) - at least three more before the end of January. While not all of them will be directly taken from my own sex life, I admit these are all probably going to be more confessional than intended. Apologies in advance! 
> 
> And yes, I really am this ticklish.

It’s not like Stiles has a problem with sex. She loves sex. Sex is amazing. Sex has gotten her through some serious midterm and final exam grief. That being said, Stiles has Issues with orgasming, many of them coming out of her own control-freak nature, but a lot of them just because she’s extremely ticklish. Nothing harshes her buzz faster than Derek forgetting her forbidden areas and going for the belly button or the sensitive crease of her thigh when she’s not quite there yet. 

She has absolutely kicked him out of bed in a fit of pique before. Erica continues to think she’s crazy.

Derek tries, Stiles has to give him that – he’s adorably focused on getting her off ninety-nine percent of the time, and Stiles suspects Derek has an earnestly handwritten list somewhere of all their sexual no-nos – but basically every square inch of skin on him is an erogenous zone, and he doesn’t _understand_. 

(Stiles is a scientific woman, she’s tested this extensively. His armpits, hips, and the backs of his knees just made him hard. And scratching her nails over the bottoms of his feet made him _come like he was dying_ , for fuck’s sake.)

Even oral isn’t working lately. Derek has an amazing mouth, and kissing it is often the best thing that happens to her all day, but he’s always pointing his tongue when he shouldn’t, and even when he does find the perfect soft-tongued stroke over her clit, he seems to think switching it up every few minutes is what’ll get her there. Newsflash: no.

It’s frustrating. Except frustrating doesn’t even begin to cover it. She hasn’t had a partner-assisted orgasm in over a week and a half, and she is just beyond done. She wants to lie down on the cold bathroom floor and cry. Derek is starting to look like a permanently kicked puppy.

“Look,” she tells him after dinner, “I love your inner self and your personality or whatever, but can I just tie you up and use your body until I come a couple times?”

Derek fumbles the sudsy glass in his hand. 

“Awesome!” Stiles says brightly.

Half an hour later, she’s got him naked and splayed out on their bed precisely how she wants him. They don’t exactly keep heavy manacles lying around the apartment, so his wrists are only held by flimsy rubber handcuffs, but it’s enough to remind him why he’s not touching her. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s already hard, his thick cock red and pulled up taut against his stomach, so she admires the view for a minute, watching the pearly drop of precome drip onto his abs, watching him glance down at her slick spread thighs and then heave in a few rough breaths. 

Stiles is probably the luckiest woman alive.

She climbs aboard, straddling Derek’s thigh and letting herself have a few self-indulgent grinds against the rough skin there before she moves up and pins his dick flat against his stomach for her to settle on top of. A soft noise turns over in Derek’s chest like starting a motor, but she grins and ignores it, spreading herself open against his cock and giving a few experimental thrusts to wet him up. It takes her a minute or two to figure out how far to spread her legs and what exact part of his cock feels the best against her clit, but she finds it eventually. 

“Mmm, yes, you have just, like, the best dick for this,” Stiles sighs out. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

Derek doesn’t answer, but Stiles didn’t really expect him to – he doesn’t always like to acknowledge the times he begs in bed, even though he does it so prettily.

She works herself up for a while, bracing her hands on his chest to get the leverage she needs and reveling in the slick-sticky noises they make together. The spongy spot under the head of his cock is just the right texture to make her sweat and curse, so she stays there for a while, feeling the telltale heat in her chest and toes build until she’s so close she could cry for it. Derek’s panting, she thinks, maybe calling her a bunch of things he’ll genuinely mean until he gets to come, but she can barely pay attention to him.

Stiles wants to put it off a little longer, let it sit in the small of her back and percolate until it’s strong enough to knock her out, but it’s been too long and, she promises herself, this one is just to take the edge off. 

She comes in stuttering, warm pulses, hips still going even as her clit is almost too oversensitive to take it. It’s not the kind of orgasm that pulls her forcefully out of her body, or even the kind that robs her of her breath and makes her shake, but it’s strong and nice and when it’s over she feels like she could hug the entire world.

“Oh man,” Stiles moans happily, collapsing forward onto Derek’s sweaty chest. 

He huffs at her, probably glaring the glare of the sexually frustrated, but she can’t see his face so she can only imagine how severe it has to be. 

“Stiles,” he says.

She wriggles and enjoys the little groan she gets for her troubles. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there when I’m done. You remember the terms of this agreement.”

She hears Derek’s head thunk against the pillow a few times, but he doesn’t voice any other complaints, not even when Stiles pulls completely off of his cock and scoots up until she’s straddling his broad chest. He’s ruddy in patches there from the press of her hands, but also flushed from his hairline down his neck, sweat pooling in the dip above his Adam’s apple and between his collarbones, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. She’s experienced the urge to throw him down and sit on his face a number of times during and before their relationship, but she’s never been presented with such an obvious invitation before.

Stiles gives into the desire to lean down and kiss him some, because she can never get enough of the sweet way he turns his head and licks at her lower lip. 

“God, you are really,” she mumbles, kissing him again, more feverishly. It’s a few minutes before she can come up for air, and then it’s only long enough to say, “Mouth open, tongue out,” before she’s hauling herself up and kneeling over his shoulders. He’s obeying almost before she’s done settling on top of him, and Stiles can feel the cool whisper of air against her wet thighs when he drags in a deep, wet breath of her scent. 

“There, just,” she says, and curls her fingers through his hair to pin his head back against the pillows, “just relax and let me.”

The tension goes out of him in stages, until his shoulders are round and soft against the pillows and his wrists are hanging limply from the handcuffs. Stiles marvels for a minute, overwhelmed and grateful and so turned on she can barely see. 

“Snap your fingers if you need air,” she says. His hair pulls against her fingers when he nods, and that’s enough for her. She spreads her knees a little further apart and lowers herself onto his flat tongue, and it’s almost too much right away but she couldn’t stop her hips from twitching into rhythm again if she tried. 

Her nerves feel lit up and raw, the soft, wet push of Derek’s tongue on her clit every time she presses her hips down and forward shuddering through her like an electric current. She keeps at it, steady and as slow as she can stand, and lets this one build up and sit next to her spine like the last one didn’t. Her hips start to ache after a few minutes, and then her clenched-tight fingers and toes, but it’s worth it for the constant, relentless, unchanging pressure right where she needs it and the shivery feel of Derek moaning against her clit.

Distantly, Stiles thanks lycanthropy for Derek’s stamina, because she knows for a fact she can only rim him for ten minutes at the most before her jaw aches too much to go on, and he’s still gamely holding his tongue still and soft for her well past that. 

Probably. 

Stiles can’t keep track of silly things like seconds and minutes when the whole world is being measured by the cadence of her hips.

She doesn’t last much longer, though she desperately wants it to go on for hours, wants to see Derek’s hair stuck to his forehead with her wet and his eyes gone dark and vacant with relaxation. Her orgasm sneaks up on her, and it’s one of the liquid hot ones – the kind that makes her curl over and scream, locks up all her muscles, leaves her a trembling, noising mess still pressing her thighs together for another little jolt long after it’s done.

When she finally collects herself enough to pull away from Derek’s mouth, she’s still pushing through the last aftershocks, and Derek’s absolutely wrecked-red mouth doesn’t help. He looks vacant and relaxed, to her delight, and she guesses his hair being plastered to his forehead with sweat is almost as good. 

“God,” Stiles sighs happily, rubbing her thumb through the wet on Derek’s chin, “I love being selfish.” 

He leans into the pet good-naturedly, which proves to Stiles he’s absolutely gone. Derek’s never so docile as when he has to come so badly his cock hurts. She leans in and kisses her taste into his mouth some more, because that’s always worth doing, and uses the time to take stock.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” she decides. “Although we’re _absolutely_ doing this again very soon, and I want your cock in my ass at your earliest convenience tomorrow. Like maybe you can pencil me in for a pre-breakfast fuck.”

Derek makes a rough pleading noise, and she has to press her open palm to his cheek. “Shh, I know. I wouldn’t leave you like this until then. I know what you need.”

He’s wet enough from his own precome that she doesn’t need to reach for the lube, so she settles down between his spread thighs and wastes no time getting both of her hands around him. His foreskin slides easy and slick over the head when she strokes up, mesmerizing even after all this time. She plays with it a little bit, pulling it up over her finger and gently pinching it together over his slit the way she’s seen him do when he jerks off, but she can’t resist the drops of precome welling up over her knuckles for long and has to lean in to taste.

Stiles has spent a good deal of their relationship practicing the fine art of sucking an uncut cock. She doesn’t think it’s unfair to say she’s pretty spectacular at it by now. 

She picks up a rhythm quickly, moving Derek’s foreskin with her hand opposite the stroke of her mouth, and it’s not long before Derek’s cursing under his breath. He’s not loud (at least not when he’s getting head – she can make him yell the house down around them when she’s got her fingers inside him), but the tremble of his thighs and the tightly controlled tense-and-relax of his abs say all they need to.

His orgasm hits him harder than normal, from what Stiles can tell, a series of hard, wracking pulses that seem all the more violent for how still Derek is. She swallows as much as she can and pulls off to milk the rest out of him with her hand, rough how he likes it. 

“That’s it,” she murmurs, twisting her wrist on the way up and squeezing around the head to push out the last few drops of come. “There we go.”

She sits back on her heels and takes in the mess of their bed. The sheets are disgusting, the pillows are mostly off the side of the bed from their combined thrashing, there’s a new dent in the headboard, and Derek – well. There is nothing better or more beautiful in the entire world than a worn-out, fuck-sleepy Derek Hale. 

Stiles is prepared to swear this before a jury of her peers.

She flops heavily down by his side and rests her head on his sweaty chest while her fingers help him out of the rubber handcuffs. He could do it himself, but she likes the pretense and she’s pretty sure he likes the reassurance that he’s allowed to take them off. For the same reason, she scoots up once that’s done and curls herself over his shoulder and head, petting the damp strands of his hair away from his forehead and temples. 

“That,” she says, “was exactly what I wanted.”


End file.
